


A Study in Gray

by A_Farnese



Series: Penumbra [6]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Gen, dragonlord
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-15
Updated: 2014-12-15
Packaged: 2018-03-01 14:00:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2775635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Farnese/pseuds/A_Farnese
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the first weeks of his reign, Arthur finds that the political game is not an easy one to win. While he tries to maintain the safety of the realm, Merlin must remain in the shadows. As old secrets come to light, Morgana's agent seeks to drive a wedge between the two friends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Study in Gray

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: 'Merlin' and its characters are not mine. No money is being made from this.

The salt air of Tintagel's shoreline scoured Morgana's face where she stood at the water's edge. The wind from the sea whisked her tears away and pulled her hair free from the hood of her cloak, eventually tugging the hood itself away from her face to drape over one shoulder. Time had yet to temper her grief at Morgause's death, but the autumn winds helped cool her rage. Rage that her sister was dead while Arthur still lived, and that Morgause was dead at Merlin's hands. If it would have brought her back, she would fly to Camelot right now and strike the whelp down, but Morgause had always counseled patience and calm, and so Morgana would approach the matter with all the serenity she could muster. _"Make me a stone,_ " she thought, _"Cold, unyielding, eternal. I will outlast my enemies. Their blood will fuel my revenge until I see the last one fall."_

Morgana held up the circlet gripped tightly in her hand. Even through her gloves, the iron was painfully cold. She had been warned about the effect, but the reality was different. Morgause had not told her about the eerie fascination she would feel just looking at the runes inscribed in it, or the weird desire to put the thing on to understand what it could do. . . It seemed to call to her, a faint vibration tracing up her arm and ringing in her head like a distant, discordant song that fragmented her thoughts. Morgana gasped and opened her eyes, the sting of the salt air and the frigid spray put her thoughts back on the proper track. This artifact was not for her, despite the efforts she had made in retrieving it from the Isle of the Blessed. It had a different purpose.

"Morgana!" Accolon's voice sounded over the wind. She turned her head toward him, but kept her eyes on the sea until he came up behind her, rocks clattering under his booted feet. He wrapped his arms around her waist. She sighed and leaned into him, a small but contented smile tugging at her lips. It was easy to forget how cold it was out there among the waves and the wind. The warmth of his body against hers soothed her heart as much as the frigid air cooled her anger. "Must you always slip away like this? You know how I worry," he said into her ear.

She laughed and reached up, winding her fingers into his hair to keep him close. "You shouldn't worry about me. The Goddess is here with me, and She would never let me come to harm."

"I can't help it, My Heart." He pressed a kiss into her hair. "Love makes us do ridiculous things." They stood together for a time, two dark figures against the gray expanse of the sea's edge, black and white against the stone and the water, watching as the day dawned and turned the clouded sky a brighter shade of gray without breaking through the clouds. "You're cold as ice," Accolon finally broke their quiet, "Come back to bed with me. I'll keep you warm."

"In a while," Morgana said. She raised the iron circlet to her eyes again, gaze fixed on the runes as she slowly turned it round and around between her fingers. The discordant song rang at the edge of her consciousness.

"What is that thing?" Accolon closed his gloved hand over hers. "You went through so much effort to find it, and yet you haven't used it. I don't understand. What's it for?"

A catlike smile spread across Morgana's face. "It's not for me. This is for my enemies. It's called the _Deireadh Croí._ "

"But what does that mean?" Accolon hugged her tighter. His deep laugh rumbled through both of them. "I don't speak the tongues of magic, My Lady. I don't have your wisdom."

"The _Deireadh Croí_ is a powerful artifact of the Old Religion," she said, pulling away from him just enough to look into his eyes, dark as the sea beyond the stones. "The Priestesses used it to control their enemies, to tame them. To pull their teeth, as it were." Morgana saw the dawning understanding in his eyes. "Deireadh Croí means, 'The Heart's End'. It's what I'm going to use to destroy Merlin."

"When?"

"In due time. No need to rush things," Morgana smiled, "Morgause always counseled patience, and I will take her advice. Events are moving in the North that will keep Arthur occupied until I am ready to strike."

Accolon lifted Morgana up and twirled her about, setting the both of them to laughing as her skirts flared around them. "And then," he set her down and kissed her lightly, "You will be Queen of Camelot"

* * *

 

Merlin started awake. The patter of rain against the windows in the Great Hall had lulled him to sleep, but a new and discordant thrum jolted him awake again. He rubbed his eyes and checked to see if any of the council members below had heard him. If they did, they made no sign of it. They continued their long discussion of tariff rates on merchants from. . . somewhere. He looked out the window, letting his eyes unfocus and his senses stretch out to find the source of the feeling that woke him.

Since the coronation, he had expanded and strengthened the wards around Camelot to prevent Morgana from scrying their every move and stop her spies from getting information out of the kingdom. It helped. A little. For several days after, he had felt a fluttering at their edges as Morgana tried to break through to spy on them. The wards held, but information flowed out of Camelot all the same. Enemies who vanished without a trace ambushed secret patrols on the border with Rheged, while spies' identities were revealed, forcing them to flee or be killed. Of course, many had their favorite culprit picked out already and under Uther's reign, Merlin would already have been tried and executed.

Arthur, however, required real evidence. Since there was none, the warlock remained free. As free as he could be living in a city where much of the population wanted him dead, that is.

He was back to living a shadowy existence. Moreso now everyone knew what he was. He made himself scarce during daylight hours, holing up in the library or his room while Gaius tended to his patients. He had made a few excursions to the forest for whatever herbs the old physician needed, though he usually had to go on foot. He had not been to the market or the stables for well over a month. Not since the morning a carter had seen him and, knowing of his magic, had lumped him together with Morgana and her ilk. Merlin's attempts to dissuade him of that notion had gone nowhere, especially since the man's son had been killed in Morgana's attempted takeover of Camelot. He had ended up with horsewhip to the face and the feeling he was beyond lucky that Percival was already awake and capable of putting out that particular fire before it got out of hand. The carter spent his night in the dungeons for assault, and while Merlin's bruises had faded, his skittishness of crowds had not. Whenever he went into the forest now, it was by way of the old tunnels under the walls.

On days like this, when he was sick of the confines of his own room, he cast his spell of invisibility and slipped around the castle like a ghost. He'd found this particular seat that way. Next to the window of a narrow gallery overlooking the Great Hall, where an archway met the wall and left the narrow space completely in shadow. The perfect place for him, really. Merlin could watch the council's meetings and keep a watchful eye on Arthur. Just like he always had.

"That's decided, then," Arthur said loudly, startling the Council and Merlin back to the present. The warlock shifted his focus away from his wards. Nothing had changed there. "Unless any of you have some pressing business you've neglected to mention until now?" the King looked at each of the Council members in turn, but each of them shook their heads or glowered in silence. "Good. We'll meet again in two days' time. Until then." He dismissed them with a wave before sitting down to shuffle through the sheaf of parchment on the table, waiting for them to leave. Or not.

"Sire, you simply must do something about that man before he turns this whole city on its ear." Lady Drusilla folded her hands in front of her and leveled a glare at the door closing behind Lord Pynell. "This obsession of his is going to get someone killed. If it were just him doing the dying I wouldn't mind, but he's the sort that will drag everyone around him down, too."

"If you can find some sort of honorable exit, My Lady, then by all means. I'll take the suggestions, but it's not going to be as easy to deal with him as it was Evrain or Lamorak," Arthur said.

Leon shot the King an irate look, "I wouldn't call the deal you made to get me on the Council an easy one." Merlin smirked at that. It had been a minor stroke of genius and necessity to put Leon on the Privy Council.

Lord Evrain was the easiest to remove. His lands were on the border with peaceful Nemeth, and it was doubtful that he would convince anyone there that he had been wronged. Especially when it was announced that Sir Leon- a knight of impeccable breeding, who had repeatedly proven his loyalty to Arthur and Camelot- would take Evrain's place. _"It is necessary, after all,"_ Arthur had said, _"For the heir to the throne to have a place on the Council so he is familiar with the Kingdom's business should anything happen to me. As First Knight of Camelot, there is no one better to pass the kingdom to until I wed and have children of my own."_

No one could argue with that. Not even Pynell. Leon had been doing a wonderful impersonation of a landed fish and was unable to say a word in his own defense.

"Of course it was easy. Your first two moves were easy, sire. The Kingdom needed an heir, and the heir needed a place on Council. Simple as that." Drusilla shot Leon the sort of withering gaze only a mother could give. "Sending Lamorak- one of your best knights- to Blackheath and putting me here in his stead- easy, as well. You're not going to be able to get Pynell out of the city on such a flimsy excuse. No matter how needed they were," she raised a hand to forestall Arthur's objections, "They were still flimsy."

Arthur sat back in his chair and drummed his fingers on its arm. "You're right," he admitted at last. The question remained. What was to be done about Pynell? "Merlin?" The King called to him without looking up.

 _"And here I thought I was being so stealthy."_ He grinned. "Yes?"

"Get down here. I have enough pains in the neck without having to look up there."

The Council was deep into the conversation by the time Merlin came back into the Great Hall through a side door. He took up his old place, out of the way with his back to a pillar. They hardly seemed to notice his arrival.

". . . and we can't send him home for any reason. His lands border Amata, and right now his views are closer to the Sarrum's than ours," Leon said, "It would be easy enough for him to turn traitor and let the Amatan army into Camelot through his own gates. Forget about Blackheath. A hard march through the White Mountains would get them here fast enough."

Merlin masked his expression by looking at the floor. The White Mountains were Kilgharrah's home these days. It would take more than a hard march to get them through those dragon-haunted passes.

"I knew we wouldn't be able to send him back to his own lands," Arthur said, "But the army is already on its way to Blackheath, with Lamorak at its head. The only reason I would replace him would be if he died. Or if Blackheath falls, at which point I'll be leading the bulk of the army there myself. Forgive my mentioning the possibility, My Lady," Arthur nodded an apology to Drusilla.

"It's the truth, Arthur. Make no apologies for telling truths," Drusilla waved him off. "But we have to solve this particular riddle. What is to be done about Pynell?" She glanced at the Councilors in turn, then back to Arthur. All of them were deep in thought and silent. The only sound in the hall was the patter of rain against the windows, and the howling wind as the storm strengthened outside.

"Tintagel." Merlin finally broke the silence. They all looked at him, their expressions ranging from confusion to disbelief. "Send him to take back Tintagel."

"To Morgana's stronghold?" Gaius raised an eyebrow. Merlin could almost hear the admonishment in his mentor's voice.

The warlock shrugged. "If he's so keen on hunting down magic-users, then send him to find the one who has actually harmed the kingdom. Gorlois's lands were extensive and Tintagel guarded a good harbor. The land has been in contention these past twenty years, and no one has done much to secure it for their own faction. Rheged has practically ignored it since they lost it to the Saxons, and the Saxons don't work very hard to keep the lands they take. They just strip it bare and leave."

Silence reigned in the hall again, but for a different reason. "If Pynell could manage to take back Tintagel,” Merlin continued, “he would have a very large feather to put in his proverbial cap, and he would have no cause to speak against you in the future, Arthur." The King steepled his fingers before him, his eyes unfocused, lost in thought.

"Against Morgana and those sorcerer-warriors?" Leon asked, his eyes widening, "Merlin, that's the next best thing to a suicide mission."

"We're not immortal, Leon," Merlin said softly, "Greater numbers can overwhelm us. A single arrow could be all it takes." His expression hardened. Months had passed; the memory of a hunting dog's breath against his throat had not faded. "The man spent a day hunting me down, at the end of which, he shot me in the back and set his dogs on me. I may not have Pynell's best interests in mind."

"And yet it's the best course we could chart for the man. If he wins, then Morgana is defeated and the lands around Tintagel return to Camelot's domains. Pynell himself would have little reason to ride into rebellion- for now." Arthur's brow furrowed. "And if he loses. . . "

"Then a thorn is removed from your side," said Lady Drusilla, "And Morgana herself may be weakened." She cast an approving glance in Merlin's direction.

"But what if he refuses to go? He will see this as a move to get rid of him," Gaius said. The physician moved to catch Merlin's gaze, perhaps to castigate him for the suggestion, but Merlin refused to be cowed.

"If he refuses to go he will miss his chance at a greater glory and prove himself a coward," Leon said. "I can't think of a better way forward."

"Nor can I," Arthur agreed, "Unless anyone has a better plan?" No one did. Or if they did, they did not speak up. "Good. I will inform his Lordship tomorrow. That's all for now."

* * *

 

"That was a bold thing to say after the Council session today," Gaius said later that night as he set the table for their supper. "Sending Lord Pynell south is a great risk."

"Letting Pynell stay here is a great risk. Sending him home is a great risk. Gaius, there's nothing about that man that isn't risky," Merlin sighed. He winced as the physician set a mug of tea down with a loud thunk. His shoulders had been in knots for weeks, and most days the tension built up and gave him a headache by sundown. He buried his head in his hands and rubbed at his temples. "There isn't a thing in my life that isn't risky Gaius, and I'm. . . I'm so tired of it. Tired of hiding, of having to disappear into shadows if the wrong person comes along. I always wanted people to know the truth about me, but now that they do, I wish I could go back to the way it was before."

"Well, that particular horse can't be put back in the stable, I'm afraid," Gaius rested a hand on the warlock's shoulder. Merlin leaned into it, taking what comfort he could before the physician withdrew it. "Your soup's going to get cold."

He reluctantly picked up a spoon and twirled it around in the cooling bowl, hazarding a few sips and hoping that his stomach would not rebel. He managed to eat half of it before giving up and picking at his bread instead. "I thought it was going to easier, somehow, once Arthur became King. I figured I'd be able to stop dodging the royal headsman and that would be the end of it. But now. . . Now I'm dodging the people themselves. Some of them. And nobles, and certain knights. Instead of watching out for one axe I have to look for a knife in the back or a crossbow from afar. And all the while I still have to keep Arthur safe and prevent Morgana from gaining anymore ground. And now I have to figure out where her spies are and stop them."

"Well," Gaius forced a smile, "At least you don't have to wash Arthur's socks anymore."

"Oh. Yeah," a faint grin tugged at Merlin's lips, "One good thing has come out of all of this." He sighed and tossed the last bit of bread into his now-cold soup. "I'm sorry, Gaius. I guess I just don't have much of an appetite tonight."

"You do look a bit peaky." Gaius reached across the table and pressed a hand against Merlin's forehead, eliciting a scowl from the warlock. "You don't seem to have a fever, though. Would you like something to help you sleep?"

He opened his mouth to refuse, and then thought better of it. With the way his head was pounding, it was likely to keep him up all night. The momentary disgust of whatever foul concoction Gaius would give him seemed preferable to a sleepless night with an aching head. "For once, yes."

Gaius raised that eyebrow again, but turned without a word and set about making whatever foul tea he had in mind. He climbed the stairs to Merlin's room minutes later with a steaming mug in hand. "Drink this, and then get some sleep. You'll feel better in the morning."

"And after that?" Merlin asked as he sipped at the brew.

"After that, you'll go through the next day as best you can, and the next morning will be better, and so on." He waited until Merlin finished the tea before blowing out the candle and taking the mug back. "Someday, all this will be behind you, and you look back on it and wonder why it felt so hard. Until then, you just have to keep moving forward, one step at a time."

 

* * *

 

 

The explosion came sooner than Arthur expected.

Long before he was due to meet with Pynell, the man burst through his chamber door, unannounced and uninvited. Arthur was on his feet, dagger unsheathed before he recognized the temperamental lord. Merlin had frozen like a startled deer before disappearing into the shadows, and Arthur struggled not to let himself stare at the suddenly empty space.

"I know what this is," Pynell hissed as he stormed toward Arthur's desk, a bit of crumpled parchment in his hand. "This is your attempt to get rid of me so you can put that sorcerous dog in my place. You may think me a fool, Arthur, but I know whose hand directs you. Ever since your coronation that freak has been whispering in your ear, inflicting his will on the kingdom. But no matter where you send me, I promise I will never allow his kind to roam freely. Even if you have forgotten your father's laws, I haven't." He flung the bit of parchment onto the desk and rose to his full height to look Arthur in the eye, his expression filled with hate.

Arthur schooled his expression and sheathed the dagger. "You forget yourself, My Lord. The proper way to address a King is, 'Sire', 'Your Grace', or 'Your Majesty'." He took his seat again, adjusting the papers before him as if an errant breeze had caused their disarray, and not an enraged Lord of Camelot. "And it is certainly not acceptable for you to enter my private chambers without my permission." Arthur folded his hands on the table, the signet ring clearly visible on his hand. He stared back at Pynell until the older man lowered his head in a vague impression of a bow.

"Forgive me, Sire," he said through gritted teeth, "For disturbing you in your chambers. But I am here on a matter regarding the safety of this realm. The realm your father held against his enemies- against the evils of sorcery- for some twenty-five years. You cannot believe that I would stand by and simply allow you to give this land over to sorcerers and Druids while your father's memory is still fresh in the people's minds?"

Arthur raised an eyebrow, still maintaining his calm facade. "Are you accusing one of the council members of laying curses on Camelot?"

"You're twisting my words. You know very well who and what I'm talking about, Sire." Pynell pushed the bit of parchment toward Arthur. "You're sending me to Tintagel. To fight Morgana, you say, and take back Gorlois's lands. But I see your mind. And the hand that moves you. Your manservant put you up to this. To get me off the council and away from you. "

The writing on the parchment was unfamiliar, but the words were true. To a point. He tossed the note away. "I hadn't intended to discuss this with you until later, but you're here now, so I may as well. Yes, I am sending you to Tintagel. It's been too long since we tried to take back those lands my father lost. And since you claim such prowess in fighting against sorcery, I had thought you might be best placed were you can do the most good. Or do you want to pretend that Morgana isn't a threat to this kingdom?"

Pynell's jaw worked as he tried to find a way to counter that, but he found none. Arthur smiled inwardly and rose, walking to the window to stare out at the rain. "It is a King's right to choose the members of his council, Pynell. My father chose you. I did not. Since my coronation, you have done nothing but hinder any progress I have tried to make to benefit Camelot."

"Sire, I-"

"You argued against a measure meant to improve the roads around the city and you were the sole voice against opening a home for orphaned children. If that doesn't run counter to Camelot's needs, I don't know what does. As King, it is my duty to put the kingdom's resources where they will be best used." Arthur clasped his hands behind his back. "Since you're so keen to hunt down sorcerers, Camelot needs you at Tintagel. Morgana is there, along with a group of sorcerer-warriors. She will move against me. That is certain. My sister will not stop until she dies or claims the throne. Unless that's truly what you want?"

Pynell's shoulders drooped a hairsbreadth, and Arthur knew he had the man cornered.

"No, Sire."

"Then will you follow your King's command and ride to Tintagel in defense of the realm?" Arthur asked.

Resentment burned in the lord's eyes, but he nodded all the same. "Yes, Sire."

"Then speak to the quartermaster and begin making your preparations. Samhain is not so far off, and winter is the worst time of year for battle. And Pynell?" Arthur stopped the man before he could leave.

"Yes, Sire?"

"Where did that note come from?" Arthur nodded at the crumpled parchment on his desk.

"The discussion to send you to Tintagel was private and not written down by anyone present."

"I- I don't know, Sire." Pynell's chin dropped a fraction. Perhaps he realized he had made an error in trusting an anonymous note. That it had turned out to be true was beside the point. "It was given to my squire this morning. He didn't see who left it."

Arthur let the words settle between them. "Perhaps you should approach such matters with more skepticism in the future. Now. Go and see to your duty."

"Yes, Sire." Pynell turned on a heel and strode out of the room, the door slamming shut behind him.

"Why do I have the feeling that's not the final word on this particular matter?" Arthur asked the air as he dropped into his chair. Aside from the rain against the windows and the crackle of the fire in the hearth it was quiet. The silence was so thick he wondered if Merlin hadn't left completely instead of merely disappearing. 'Have I gotten so used to his magic that it doesn't bother me to think of him vanishing into thin air?'

"Probably because it's not," the sorcerer stepped out of the shadows of the far corner of the room. It was the greatest distance he could have put between himself and Pynell without leaving. "He won't stop until he's dead." Arthur didn't need magic to read the thought Merlin wouldn't give voice to- that he hoped Pynell would die in the attempt to re-take Tintagel.

"No," Arthur sighed and settled back in the chair. "But the problem is solved for the moment. And who knows? Maybe he'll be successful." He forced a note of levity into his voice, but it fell flat.

"Maybe," Merlin agreed without feeling and knelt in front of the fire, poker in hand to adjust the glowing logs in the hearth. They didn't need it. He was just using it as an excuse to soak up some of the warmth.

Arthur studied him for a moment, noting the lines of strain around Merlin's eyes and the stiff way he held himself. If his own Kingship had given Arthur new purpose and energy, it had done the opposite to his friend, leaving him listless and quiet where he should have been a lively chatterbox. He'd always lived in the shadows, but a virtual half-life spent dodging the wrong eyes and staying away from Gaius and the knights in public because others might disapprove. . . Arthur wondered if he would hold up half as well. "Do you think Morgana's spy gave Pynell that note to make trouble?"

Merlin rubbed his eyes. The firelight painted the lines of his face with red. "Probably. And no, I haven't found him yet. Or her. I have wards up all over Camelot to find him, but he's been too careful. I'll keep looking."

"You'll find him," Arthur said, true confidence in his voice this time. He was sure that Merlin would succeed, even if the sorcerer didn't believe it. "It'll just take time. Every kingdom suffers from spies. This isn't the first time, and it won't be the last." Merlin just nodded, his half-closed eyes still on the flames. Did he see some potential future there? A thousand possibilities to wade through that only he could see, possibilities that would weigh on his mind and drag him down even further? "Merlin?" he said softly when the silence dragged out too long.

"I'm fine," was the muted reply.

"Sure you are," Arthur said skeptically. "I'd say we should go for a ride- I could use the fresh air. But this damned rain doesn't show any signs of letting up." The rain had been falling for three days now, keeping the King indoors and away from his favorite pursuits. No riding, no swordplay on the practice fields. Certainly no hunting. He hadn't had the stomach for that since the night Leon came back with that bloodied arrowhead and a tale of dogs being set upon his friend.

"It's going to rain for another two days," Merlin murmured.

"You're sure about that?" Arthur said.

"Yes."

"If you say so," he said sarcastically in a failed attempt to bring a bit of their old banter back. Merlin just sighed and rubbed his eyes again. "What am I supposed to do with you?" Arthur asked.

The sorcerer slowly turned his head to look up at him. "What do you mean?"

"You've been moping around the castle for weeks. If I didn't know any better, I'd say someone threw rocks at your birds or something." Merlin blinked owlishly once before turning back to the fire. Arthur bit back a sigh and rolled to his feet, pacing back to the windows to watch the water drip down the panes. "Why didn't you defend yourself against the carter? I've seen what you're capable of. Why did you wait until Percival came along?"

Merlin was quiet for a long time, and Arthur began to wonder if he was going to answer the question at all. "They're afraid of me." Merlin's voice was hardly louder than the fire. "The people are. They've been taught all these years to fear magic, and suddenly there's a sorcerer in their midst. I can hardly blame them for hating me."

"I suppose not. But you didn't answer the question." Arthur stared at his hands. He hadn't noticed he was twisting the signet ring around on his finger. "That man could have killed you. . . "

Another long silence. "I suppose it's because you've seen what I'm capable of. I can kill with a word, Arthur. And that man was so angry. . . about his son. I didn't want to hurt him, so I kept my mouth shut. I thought that if I did anything at all, it might make things worse. Luckily Percival was there."

"Luckily." Arthur had seen what an angry mob could do. He'd thanked every star he had ever wished on that Percival had been there to keep matters from getting worse. Bad enough to see Merlin bloodied and shaking- and so full of fear. A few more minutes and. . . He pushed the possibilities away. The worst hadn’t happened.

"It will get better. All of this. It'll get better."

Merlin scoffed faintly. "If you say so."

"You can believe me, Merlin. It will get better."

* * *

 

_In his Mind's Eye, Merlin wandered freely through the halls of the castle and out into the winding streets. No one noticed him. No one could see him. From the safety of his own room, with a map of Camelot under one hand, he fashioned a web of light tighter and tighter around the city. In the half-lit world somewhere between the physical and the spirit worlds, he moved fast as thought from the citadel to the lower town and around the curtain wall. This was the most complex spell he had ever woven, as strong and thin as a spider-silk web woven across a well mouth. It was nearly as easy to brush aside, too, if a man knew it was there. None did, though. Only Gaius had an inkling of what Merlin was doing, but even he did not know the scope of it. Morgana's spy would have no idea. He hoped. It was the point of this exercise, after all, to find the spy and stop him from reporting to the Priestess._

_A voice sighed far away. The echo of a scream. He cringed at the sound; no human or animal throat could make that sound. It was a signal that time was running out. His strength began to fail, and if he did not complete the spell and awaken to the living world, he might never wake at all._

_He had begun this task before the sun lowered over the city. It was well past nightfall now, and even his reserves of strength had to give out sometime. He hesitated to think what might happen if his body gave out while his spirit wandered about. Would the body die while the spirit wandered alone, sundered forever? Or would he able to rejoin the two- but only just- and continue on in the tenuous netherworld between life and death? A chill blew through him. He felt it there in the spirit world, and in the physical realm, too. An eerie feeling. Some bent part of his mind wanted to feel it again, to study it and figure out what it meant. Perhaps he had spent too much time in the library of late. "Another time, Merlin. Think on it another time. Your current time is running out."_

  _He settled the last line of his web into place and imagined himself back to where he had begun, back in his room, sitting cross-legged on his bed with the map of Camelot unrolled in front of him. Safe, warm, and surrounded by sensible, physical things like walls and chairs._

"Merlin?"

A hand touched his forehead and shocked him back into himself before he was ready. He gasped. His eyes snapped open before his Mind's Eye closed, revealing a tremulous world of light woven with shadows and two radiant figures before him, one reaching a hand toward the warlock. Darkness pressed against him. He slumped against the pillows, his head hitting the wall with a soft thud. His vision blurred and turned gray. A buzzing noise sounded in his ears.

"Merlin?"

This time, he heard worry in the voice. His fingers tightened on the blankets, grounding him enough that he could tell what was up and what was down. Merlin forced his eyes open. After the brightness of the spirit world, it was so dark. "Leoht," he whispered. Every candle flared brighter, pushing away the gloom until he focused on Lancelot and Gwaine on either side of the bed, their concern turning to relief when the warlock finally looked up at them.

"There you are," Gwaine said, grinning, "You had us worried for a minute."

"Didn't mean to," Merlin mumbled. The lines of the map glowed for a moment before fading to their normal blackness. The spell locked into place, shuddering through his bones like the slamming of city gates. "What're you doing here?" He coughed. It felt like he hadn't spoken for a week.

"Watching out for you," Lancelot said as he retrieved a covered tray from the table under the window. A small feast lay under the cloth- bread, cheese, berries, cold chicken. A pastry filled with spiced apples lay to one side. Merlin suspected Guinevere's hand in the choice of food and tried not to fall on it like a starving man. "Gaius said you were working some sort of magic and asked us to look after you when he was called away to some business in the lower town."

"He's still gone?" Merlin looked out the window to gauge the time, but the few stars he saw were not helpful. "What time is it, anyway?"

"Well past midnight," Gwaine chimed in, "Gaius came back ages ago. He fell asleep in his chair waiting for you to come around. Lance here put him to bed." The other knight rolled his eyes at the shortening of his name. "Told us to wake him if anything happened."

"Anything like what?" Merlin asked as he started on the berries, picking them out one by one. It was late in the season for them, and probably the last he would get before spring. They were almost as sour as they were sweet.

Gwaine snorted. "Like you suddenly turning white as a ghost, then passing out and hitting your head on the wall. That kind of thing, mate. What were you doing, anyway? You've been sitting there for hours, still as a stone, while that map got more and more glowy."

"Glowy? That's not even a word." Lancelot shook his head, gingerly whisking the map off the bed to lay it on the table. "Are you all right, Merlin?"

"I'm fine," he answered with real conviction despite his throbbing head. It always happened when he overextended himself. Time and a little sleep would refresh whatever reserves the food did not. "When did you get back? I thought you weren't due back until tomorrow."

"This afternoon," Lancelot said, "Lucan said no one would be out in the rain, and if we stayed in it much longer the horses would end up with hoof rot. I think he might have been more worried about the horses than he was about the rest of us."

"Aye," Gwaine grinned and leaned back in his chair. "And then as soon as we rode through the gates, the rain stopped. The sun came out by the time we got to the stables. Lucan kept glaring up at the sky like he was trying to scare the sunshine away. But enough about us. You didn't answer Lancelot's question. What were you doing with the map and the glowing and the. . . ?" the knight held his hand out flat and waggled his fingers as though casting a spell.

"Hunting for Morgana's spy," Merlin said. "Whoever it is, he knows how to keep his head down. I haven't found a single crow out of place, haven't felt a single bit of scrying anywhere in the city. Not since Morgana stopped trying." He shook his head and picked the pastry apart, spearing the apple slices with the knife. "It's almost like he just up and disappeared, except. . . "

"Except people keep dying," said Lancelot.

Merlin nodded. No one else blamed him when the reports came in. No one accused him of indolence in the search for the spy, but Merlin held himself accountable anyway. It was his duty, after all, to find magic with magic, and he had failed for weeks.

"It's not your fault, Merlin."

"Feels like it is." He broke the last bits of the pastry into smaller and smaller bits with the end of the knife. It felt as meaningful as any of the work he had been doing. "I don't have anything else to do these days. I go to the library and read, or I sit in here and read. If I could actually go and do something with anything I've learned it wouldn't feel so. . . useless."

He put the knife down and set the tray aside so he could lean back against the pillows and draw his knees up to his chest. "I used to be nobody. Arthur's servant or Gaius's boy. I could just. . . go and do what I needed to do and no one ever noticed. Now I'm the Sorcerer. Still don't have a name, but now everyone's afraid of me." Merlin closed his eyes and rested his head against the wall. That had come out harsher than he intended.

"So you stay in here and obsess about Morgana's spy." Something more than his usual flippancy laced Gwaine's tone. "We need to get you out of here, mate. Come out on patrol with us one of these days. Lucan would be glad to have you along. And you'd bring the conversation up a few notches. I respect the hell out of Percival, but he's not the sharpest tool in the shed."

"And you are?" Lancelot chided.

"I might not be the best talker, but I've got more charm than the lot of you combined. Just ask the ladies."

Lancelot laughed. "I can't ask the ladies. Every time you come into sight, their fathers lock them away."

"Not always. I gave Lady Linnet those flowers."

"And then she turned around and fed them to her horse. The horse appreciates you. She doesn't," Lancelot said. "And here I thought you were in love with Lady Elaine."

Gwaine's chair creaked as he tipped it onto its back legs. "All Elaine ever talks about is Astalot and Lancelot. Ha! I'm rhyming," he guffawed, "Think I could become a poet, Merlin?"

"No," the warlock replied flatly. Then, in spite of himself, Merlin smiled. It had been so long he thought he had forgotten how, but there it was. "Unless you want to be regarded as one of the worst poets ever. I don't think Lady Linnet would like you any more for that, though."

"Hey!" The front feet of Gwaine's chair hit the floor with a resounding thud. Lancelot tried to shush him, gesturing toward the door and beyond where Gaius still slept. Gwaine responded by punching the other knight on the arm, but his protests turned to laughter.

Soon they were all laughing quietly, their eyes on the door waiting for the old physician to appear in the doorway, with raised eyebrow and a scowl. But the physician never came and their amusement died away. "Seriously, Merlin," Gwaine said, "I meant it. You should go on a patrol with us one of these times. Get yourself out of these old stone walls for a while. You're going to run mad staying cooped up in here, with your books and your maps and your glowy-web-things like some nasty old spider."

"Spiders aren't all bad," Merlin stood up for the little creatures.

"Until one crawls across your face in the middle of the night." Gwaine shuddered, "And then you wake up nose to nose with a furry little beastie staring you in the face."

Lancelot raised an eyebrow. "So that's what that girlish scream last week was all about? I thought something terrible had happened."

"Anyway." Gwaine tried to take back control of the conversation, "Come with us. We're due to go back out in a week. Just for a few days. I could saddle Altair up, and you could meet us in the forest." A note of pleading entered Gwaine's voice. Hard to say if it was genuine, or an act to get Merlin to give in. Knowing Gwaine, there was likely a bit of both.

"I can't. Not now. Not with this spy mucking about and Morgana doing who knows what. I can't leave Arthur."

"Do you think Morgana's going to attack again so soon?" Lancelot asked.

"I don't know." Merlin shook his head and looked out the window. The stars, what little he could see of them, had nothing to add. "She's gotten as good at blocking my scrying as I have at stopping hers. As much as we try, we can't spy on each other. I'm sure she has some sort of plan in the works, but I have no idea what. All I know is, whatever she plans, it'll be something dramatic."

"She does like her drama," Gwaine said. "Still, you're stronger than she is. Right?" He went on without giving Merlin a chance to answer. "Right. So whatever she's planning, you'll be able to stop her."

They had such faith in him. More than he had in himself. "I hope so. I don't want to think about what would happen otherwise. I'm the one meant to stand between her and Arthur. If I can't stop her, and she gets to Arthur. . . " He shook his head. Camelot would fall, Albion would never find peace, and she would plunge the land into a darkness worthy of her father.

"No pressure, then," Gwaine quipped.

"Yeah. None at all. Which is why," Lancelot dusted Gwaine's head with a playful swat, "we should let Merlin get some sleep. He looks ready to drop, and you're going on about women and dragging him through the woods. Come on. We're to be on the practice field first thing in the morning. Lucan will have our heads if we're not paying attention because we stayed up all night."

Gwaine grimaced, but rose and set his chair to one side. "I suppose I hear enough abuse from that man. No need to give him a reason to send more my way. G'night, Merlin." He looked back before opening the door, leveling a stern gaze back at his friend. It did not last long, dissolving into a grin before the warlock could blink. "One day soon, I will get you back to the woods. Mark my words."

"Out," Lancelot ordered and drove the point home by whacking Gwaine on the shoulder.

"Good night, Merlin."

"Good night. And- Thank you," Merlin said. The knights smiled in return and left, gently closing the door behind them. The warlock's gaze remained on the door for a time. The knots in his shoulders had loosened some, and the pounding in his head had died down.

He had forgotten how much a little bit simple camaraderie could ease a man's mind. It hadn't done away with his weariness altogether, but it helped. " _Adwæscan"_ , he whispered, and all the candles died out as one, leaving Merlin in darkness that pressed a little less as he curled up under the blankets and let himself fall into sleep.

 

* * *

 

Merlin didn't wake again that night. If he had, he might have heard the quiet opening and closing of the doors and the shuffling of feet. He might have noticed a shadowy figure lighting a single candle with the embers in the hearth, seen him come into the room and watch Merlin sleep for a few moments before bringing a chair to the bedside.

But Merlin didn't wake, and so he never knew that Lancelot had come back a scant hour later to keep watch over his friend until dawn.

* * *

 

The spell hummed in the back of Merlin's mind. A song with neither notes nor words, it was far, far less than the music of the stars, but almost as beguiling. Usually he could disregard it, like ignoring the everyday sounds of the city- merchants in the markets, the bustle of servants in the halls and the like. Other times, though, it whined into the forefront of his mind, demanding his attention, even if there was nothing to pay attention to.

Or when there were other things he ought to be minding instead. Like a king calling his name.

"Are you paying attention to me at all, Merlin? Merlin?"

Something hit him in the shoulder and fell harmlessly into his lap. Merlin opened his eyes in time to see a brown blur flying toward him. It bounced off his forehead and rolled off the owl's back. The bird squeaked in alarm and flapped its wings, beating the warlock's face with them before settling down again on his knee. With an indignant screech in its attacker's general direction, the owl puffed its feathers out, closed its eyes, and pretended that it had not looked like an awkward bundle of wings and feathers moments earlier. Owls had their dignity to maintain, after all. As did warlocks. Merlin picked the bits of downy fluff off his jacket and tossed the wayward walnuts back at a laughing Arthur.

Arthur tossed them back, frowning with mock anger. "Did you hear anything I just said?"

"Maybe not?" he did his best to look innocent. He had, of course, not heard anything Arthur had just said. The warmth of the late afternoon sun and the song of his spell had lulled him into a daze while Arthur droned on about training the knights.

"I ask you one question. . . ." Arthur shook his head and looked back at Guinevere, irritation in his wintry blue eyes, "Look at him. I spend five minutes daydreaming at a council meeting and I hear about it for days. He's had his head in the clouds for the past week and he's trying to pretend otherwise. If I didn't know any better, I'd say he was mooning over some girl." He scowled when Guinevere laughed instead of sympathizing.

"Sorry. I was distracted by a. . . thing. What was the question?" Merlin asked.

Arthur poked at the blanket for any more walnuts to toss at him, coming up with a bit of silverware instead. Though he looked tempted, the King declined to throw the paring knife at his friend, settling on shooting him a glare instead. "I asked if you'd met the new physician who's moved into the lower town. I hear he was anxious to meet Gaius. What was his name again?"

"Blaise," Guinevere said without looking up from her embroidery. "His name is Blaise. He's from Brittany, by way of Nemeth, and he has two apprentices." She frowned at a bit of fraying thread, tugging it free of the cloth before it could tangle further and ruin the delicate pattern of twisting leaves. "I don't remember their names, though."

"Stilicho and Aimery. They're from much farther away than Brittany- Sicily and Germania. Far to the east and south." Merlin smoothed the feathers on the owl's neck. "Poor Stilicho's not going to like winter here. And yes, I've met Blaise. He and Gaius have been up late talking herbcraft the past two nights."

He had not expected to find the Breton healer in their shared chambers the first night. Coming back late from the library, he had heard voices through the door and almost turned around. Something in the new voice, though, made him go in. He was glad he had. For two nights, they talked about the healing arts, trading techniques and craft. A real conversation. Upon hearing that Merlin was a sorcerer, Blaise did not flinch; the boys had looked at him with curiosity, as though expecting him to do tricks on command. When he did not, they turned their sleepy eyes back to their master.

Stilicho, the older one, dark of hair and eye, kept a protective arm around golden-haired Aimery. The younger boy might have been ten years old. Both, Merlin learned, had been slaves bought- and promptly freed- by Blaise.

"And Gaius doesn't mind that another physician has set up shop in the lower town?" Arthur shredded a thick blade of grass, trying to maintain an air of unconcern about Merlin's answer. Even without looking at his King, though, Merlin could Arthur was studying him intently.

"No, he doesn't mind. Camelot's growing, and Gaius isn't getting any younger. And it will be a long time before people are comfortable with coming to me for healing. I know," he half-smiled at Guinevere before she could protest, "There are people who don't mind, but there are more who do. And I know it'll change. But right now. . . " Merlin shrugged and leaned back against the rough trunk of the hawthorn tree. Right now, only a few people would come to him for help. "Blaise knows what he's doing," he finished quietly.

"As long as he's a proper physician, then. I'll not have a charlatan opening up shop and causing problems. I have enough of those already. Problems, not charlatans," he corrected himself. "Pynell's gone, at least. He and his men left this morning, and Lord Cador has promised to aid him when he reaches the outskirts of Tintagel." They were quiet for a time, each lost in their own thoughts. A chill breeze rustled the branches above them where few leaves remained. This afternoon was likely to be one of the last warm ones before the rains and snow of winter settled over them, forcing them all inside for the season. Guinevere shivered and pulled her shawl further up onto her shoulders.

Merlin let his mind drift, the sound of the wind blowing his worries away. His spell's song rose up again, the notes of it ever-changing as the city changed. The people went about their lives, going to market, bringing in the harvest, and readying themselves for the Samhain festival and the winter beyond it. Some were even preparing for Arthur's birthday celebration. Through it all, his web of magic remained, spread out over the city and waiting for Morgana's spy to slip up, to make a mistake and reveal himself. It had to happen; no one was perfect and spies had to report to their masters at some point.

He closed his eyes, senses stretching out along the spell-strands. From the bright high towers, through windowed halls and winding staircases, down to the lower levels, past the kitchens and laundry, then farther down into the dungeons and the catacombs beyond. Everything and everyone was in order.

Except. . .

A strange vibration rattled against his consciousness like horseflies buzzing lazily against a watchman's lantern. That was not right. Not quite. He let his Mind's Eye open, followed the line down and down to the source of the disturbance. To the vaults, and the whispery figure leaning in toward a locked door.

In the spirit world, mortal shells meant nothing. If clothes did not make a man good or evil, then neither did the face he wore or the class he was born to. Only mind and soul mattered here, spirits shining through, their intensity depending upon the brightness of the spirit, their forms wreathed in light and flickering like candles. Here, the world shimmered with a thousand, thousand colors, as though the world were crafted from jewels and colored glass, with light shining in from without while the spirits lit it from within with all the variety of the stars in the night sky. Sometimes, he wondered what it would be like to stay there forever to wander in a world of light. . .

He dragged his reluctant thoughts back to his task. The figure in the vaults. The figure that should not have been there. It was quick work to memorize the spot. He retreated back into himself.

"Merlin?" Arthur and Guinevere knelt next to him, concern in their eyes as Merlin blinked them back into focus.

"I'm fine. Just- I'm fine." He coaxed the owl from his knee to a wrist, tossing his arm up so the bird could fly away as the warlock staggered to his feet. The King took hold of his elbow. Merlin suspected it was to both steady, and keep him from running off without an explanation.

"What is it?" Arthur's fingers dug into the meat of his upper arm. Merlin's fingers started tingling.

"I found Morgana's spy. At least, I think I did." He tried to shrug Arthur off, but he only tightened his grasp. The concern had turned to a question in the King's eyes, and Merlin saw he would not be put off so easily. "I worked a spell," he sighed, "To find the spy, and I think it's finally worked. Someone's in the vaults who shouldn't be there, and even it it's not the spy, it's probably someone looking for a powerful magical artifact they don't know how to control, so it's good idea to stop whoever it is, regardless of what they're doing. Right? Right. Now are you going to let me go?"

"No. I'm going to summon the knights, and we're going to- Merlin!" Arthur grabbed for his servant's arm again but missed as Merlin slipped away and darted toward the garden's door. "He could be setting a trap!"

Merlin paused at the door and looked back, "If he's set a trap, then you're the last person who should get caught in it, Arthur. And if I laid the spell right, he won't even know he's been spotted. But there's no time to waste. If there is a trap, I can handle it. Don't worry about me. I know what I'm doing." He flashed them a broad smile before slipping through the door, leaving Arthur and Guinevere to stare after him. He heard Arthur's voice a moment later, though, calling for guards and whichever of the knights might be closest.

 _'That's not going to look good. Me running from Arthur, and him calling for guards.'_ He almost laughed as he rushed down the hall. He grabbed a torch sconce and swung into the next alcove, wrapping himself in shadows and pushing passers-by's attention away with his well-used invisibility spell, then sped off as quickly as the bustling lower halls allowed. If anyone saw the doors opening by themselves, he would have to let it go. Let them tell Arthur. Merlin was not running away from the King. Just toward a possible enemy.

He stuttered to a halt when he reached the hallway outside the vaults, catching his breath so the rasp would not alert the spy. It was always dark here, lit only when a guard passed by on watch, or when Arthur came to retrieve some item normally kept locked away- sensitive maps and the like. Merlin avoided the vaults when he could. Of the magical devices hidden away here, most were necessarily kept out of sight. How many horrors might be unleashed if they saw the light of day again?

A spell-shattered lock revealed the spy's path. Merlin brushed his fingers against the heavy door, felt the hinges vibrate as they began to creak."Salnes", he whispered to silence the door before slowly pushing it further open, just enough to slip into the chamber beyond. No one was there, but a thin line of light under the next door betrayed that someone was there. Or had been there. He stepped carefully, eyes both physical and spiritual open, looking for traps, spies, or thieves ready to knock him over the head. A whisper of magic echoed from the next room. The light went out. Full darkness dropped around him.

 _"Who's there?"_ He sent the thought out to the presence he felt, _"I don't want to hurt you. I just want to know what you're doing down here."_ He took another step forward. The soft scraping of his boots against the stone floor seemed loud in the silence. He summoned a ball of pale blue light. It sent shadows whirling around him, the bars of the cells striping the chamber with white-blue and black, revealing nothing but a room full of dusty chests and locked boxes. " _I know you're there,_ " he sent, " _There's nowhere for you to_ _go."_ No one responded.

A door slammed in the corridor far behind him, its echoes filled the chamber, almost covering the muttering voices. Arthur's voice was distinct, and he thought he heard Leon, too. The others were too faint. Merlin stepped forward again, closing his hand around the light so its brilliance would not reveal his whereabouts to Arthur- yet- or show the spy where exactly he was.

It didn't work. The door flew open in front of him, the heavy oak and iron construction barely missing him as he stumbled backwards. It crashed against the wall, a blast like thunder in the narrow space. Its echoes almost drowned out the thin voice that hissed _"Astrice!_ ", and knocked him to the floor.

The voices in the corridor drew closer. Merlin shook his head clear and let his Mind's Eye open. Arthur was closing in. Now was not the time to play games with another sorcerer. He pulled himself back to his knees, eyes glowing gold as he looked into the next room and saw a tremulous figure raising an arm. To cast again, he was sure, either at Merlin himself, or at whoever came through the door next. _"Sweofot!_ " he hissed. The figure fell.

"Merlin?" The outer door opened. With his Mind's Eye still open, Merlin looked back and winced. In the spirit world, Arthur shone as bright as the sun. It almost hurt to look at him. "Are you all right? Did you find anyone?"

"I'm fine," Merlin said quickly, rubbing his eyes and letting his vision return to normal. "There's someone in there. I put him to sleep." Arthur hauled him to his feet, his eyes shadowed in the torchlight. Leon and Gwaine stood behind him. "Come on."

They found a girl huddled on the floor in the next room. A slender wisp of a young woman, her auburn hair pulled back in a long braid. She wore a servant's plain dress and apron; her hands were red and chapped. A laundress or scullery maid. "Looks like I'm not the only magic user to hide in plain sight." Merlin almost smiled. He pressed his hand against her throat to check for a heartbeat and felt the whisper of another spell wrapped around the girl. "An illusion," he whispered absently.

"What?" Arthur asked.

Merlin held a hand over the girl's face, his fingers stretched wide. " _Gesweotolian."_ The illusion dissolved. Little changed. The girl's face and hair remained the same, and her servant's clothes were unchanged. The only difference was on her wrist, where a patch of her skin shimmered, revealing a swirling tattoo. "She's a Druid," Merlin sighed.

Arthur gave him a sidelong glance. "Do you know her from somewhere?" Merlin shook his head.

"Wherever she's from, she broke into the vaults, and I'm assuming she attacked you?"

"Yes."

"Bring her, then." Arthur straightened and gestured for Gwaine to pick the girl up. "Put her in a cell in the dungeons. I'll have questions for her when she wakes up."

 

* * *

 

Arthur bit back a sigh and nodded to the guards to let him through. Here was a task he was not looking forward to: questioning the Druid girl they had caught in the vaults. There, in the torchlight, she had looked so young and small. So innocent. Hard to believe she might be Morgana's spy. He hoped she was not, but spy or not, she had still broken into the vaults. She would have to answer for that, at least.

Merlin and Leon followed him. Leon had come to bear witness to whatever the girl had to say for herself. They had to follow the legal niceties, after all, and she was a sorceress. Despite the magic-dampening shackles locked on her wrists, neither of them wanted to take chances. Merlin had insisted on coming. Arthur had been reluctant to allow it. The man had a soft spot for the Druids, and the King didn't want Merlin's good wishes for the girl's kin to color his opinion. " _I know magic, Arthur,_ " he had argued, _"And I know Druids I'll know better than you will if she's lying"_.

Apparently, Merlin's days spent skulking about in the library hadn't been for nothing. His arguments were as clear and reasoned as any legal scholar's was, and Arthur finally relented.

Now that they were there, though, he felt a flicker of doubt. She looked so innocent. . . Arthur steeled his nerves and set his torch into the sconce closest to the cell door. The girl winced when the light flared into the darkness. Her hair had come loose from its long braid, framing her tear-stained face with auburn waves. "Your Grace," she curtsied awkwardly, her voice high and trembling. The chains at her wrists rattled with the movement.

"What is your name?" Arthur asked softly.

"Nynaeve, Your Grace," she whispered, her teary gaze flickering from him to Leon, eyes widening when she caught sight of Merlin. Arthur resisted the urge to turn and look back at his servant.

"Nynaeve. What is your position here in Camelot?"

She looked back at Arthur as though surprised to find him still standing there. Her gaze fell to the floor. Her fingers nervously twisted about each other. "I- I'm a laundress, Your Grace. For the past six months."

Arthur's eyes narrowed. "And why would a Druid come to Camelot to become a laundress?"

Tears spilled over onto the girl's dirty cheeks. "My little sisters," she sniffed, "Our mother died last year, and I'm all they have left. I tried to take care of them. Picked herbs and flowers in the woods, took them to markets to sell, but it wasn't enough. Especially when winter came. Up north, in the White Mountains, it snows so deep, you can't go anywhere. We nearly starved, the three of us. Even with help. It was so hard out there by ourselves. When spring came 'round, I thought I might find work somewhere, and the castle seemed best. It's better pay than other places, and you get a bed and food and a change of clothes. I figured I could save most of my earnings and send them off to my sisters. They're in an herbwife's care out in a village, see, and I wanted for so little when I got here. All I needed was a bit of magic now and then, to hide my tattoo, so no one would know what I was. I promise, Your Grace, I never meant any harm. I just washed clothes and linens. All wanted was to take care of my sisters. . . " The rapid flow of words stuttered to a halt as she dissolved into quiet sobs.

Arthur waited until she could control herself again. "If you wanted nothing more than to earn money for your family, then why were you in the vaults?"

She wiped her eyes. "I heard there were lots of valuable things down there. Books and magical things. He- He said that if I could get just one thing, one little bauble, that maybe I could sell it and get enough money that my sisters and I could go home again. I didn't mean any harm, Your Grace, truly. I just want us to be a family again. My sisters are so young, and I'm all they have." Her knees shook. Arthur thought she might collapse at any moment.

"It's a believable story, Sire," Leon whispered to Arthur, "But how do we know if it's true or not? How can we possibly test it without going out to find her sisters to ask them the truth of the matter?"

"I'm not sure," Arthur whispered back. He turned to ask Merlin, but found the sorcerer staring intently at the girl. His eyes were shadowed, a faint spark from the torch reflected in them. He took a half step forward. His bearing changed- a straightening of his back, a lifting of his chin. The balance of power seemed to shift, and Arthur had the odd feeling that he was no longer in charge of the situation.

"You said 'he' told you about the vaults. Who was it?" Merlin's voice was soft, but a tone of command threaded through it.

A hint of fear glinted in the girl's widened eyes. "Our leader. In the winter, when there was naught else to do but sit and talk, he told us about the vaults, how we could get enough money for proper clothes and food and shelter for the winter. We just wanted to survive, Your Grace. There's no harm in that, surely?" She looked pleadingly at Arthur, but he looked back at Merlin.

"What is your leader's name?" he asked. The sorcerer had gone still, catlike, as though waiting for an opening to strike at an unwary mouse.

The girl's eyes went winder. "I-Iseldir."

Merlin let out a long breath. "She's lying."

Arthur looked at him sharply, but Merlin did not return the gaze. "How do you know?"

"Because I know Iseldir. He would not speak of stealing from the vaults of Camelot for the sake of a few gold coins. His people hardly use money. They live almost entirely off the land. And he would never allow a family to be split up- or nearly starve to death- if he could prevent it. He'd rather starve himself." Merlin finally looked back at him, eyes intent, and truth written across his features.

"I believe you, but that's not evidence, Merlin. What proof is there that she's lying?"

"She said she spent the winter in the White Mountains, and that was where Iseldir told her about the vaults." Arthur nodded slowly, holding his tongue until the sorcerer made his point. "But Iseldir's people don't live in the White Mountains. They spend their winters far south of here, in the forests of Nemeth."

The girl's eyes widened again, with fury this time, instead of fear, and the frightened laundress disappeared. She stood straight, shoulders back, and chin up with as much pride as she could muster in chains and tangled hair. She wiped the tears off her face. "They talk about you, you know," she glared up at Merlin, "' _Emrys will save us_ ,' they say, ' _Emrys will set things right again_ '. They're all full of hushed tones and awe when the talk about you- Iseldir's lot. Like you're some sort of savior. Like you can just wave your hand and undo all the wrongs of the past. But you don't. You just run and hide and hope your precious king will bring about your perfect little world. You're just another traitor."

"Merlin, what-?" Arthur looked back, but Merlin had taken a half step back into the shadows, his eyes hidden in the darkness again.

"She's Morgana's," he sighed, "I doubt she'll say anything else."

"Oh, I have plenty to say," The girl sneered, "But none of will pass my lips until these are off me." She held her hands up and shook the chains slightly.

"I'm not about to remove the things that keep you from using your powers against us," Arthur said.

"Then you'll never hear what I have to say. And believe me, you'll want to hear it. I've been all over these lands. I've met all sorts of people, seen all sorts of things. I know about threats to your precious Camelot that even my mistress couldn't touch. And I know what sort of lies have been fed to you by those closest to you." Her sneer turned to a smirk. "But I'll tell you none of it until these come off. Do you really think I’ll be able to do anything to you with your little pet sorcerer over there?"

He knew he shouldn’t have let it, but his curiosity was getting the better of him. Morgana certainly wasn’t the only threat to the kingdom, and if this girl, Nynaeve, knew anything that could help. . . "I have no way to guarantee that you won't attack us if I removed those shackles," he said. "Nor do I have a way to prove that what you say is the truth."

"He'll know if it's the truth," she nodded toward Merlin, though her gaze remained fixed on Arthur.

"And you don't have worry about me attacking you. I'll not try to harm you." This time she did look at Merlin, her gaze steady at she met his. "I swear it on my own life."

They stood silently for a moment, each watching the other, taking each other's measure. Merlin finally looked at Arthur and nodded. "You can take the shackles off. She won't try to hurt us."

The King studied his servant for a beat, and then nodded. Merlin knew the Druids better, and if he felt he could handle whatever threat she might pose. . . "Very well, then. Hold your hands up. But remember that any attempt you make on my life ends in your execution."

"I understand," she said, holding her hands by the bars so Arthur could unlock the shackles.

When they were freed, she rubbed her chafed wrists, casting another smirk towards Merlin. She tucked her hair behind her ears, smoothing out the tangles as best she could, as though making herself more presentable would make whatever she had to say more palatable.

"You mentioned threats to Camelot?" Arthur said before his patience ran out.

"Aye. One great threat from the north."

"I already know of the Sarrum's-" Arthur began.

She cut him off, "Not him. Nothing so minor as a mere king, no matter how cruel he is. I grew up in the northern reaches of the White Mountains. There, we faced all sorts of threats- the Knights of Camelot, the armies of Amata, wolves, great mountain cats, and all sorts of fell beasts. But no matter how fearsome those creatures were, everything ran when the greatest beast of them all returned."

Her haughty tone softened, "Far away in the high peaks of the mountains- where no hunters or knights could challenge him- lives the great dragon. Big as a great hall, he is, with vast wings. Red and black scales. He may be old, but he can still breathe fire hot enough to burn stone. I saw him with my own eyes, not a year past."

Arthur shook his head and glanced back at Leon, who returned the look with a raised eyebrow and doubtful expression. "If you're trying to frighten us with tales of a faraway dragon, you're not going to get very far. We slew the last dragon nearly three years ago."

"Did you now?" Nynaeve's eyes half closed. In the torchlight, with her reddish hair and sharp features, she looked fox-like. And just as sly. "And who told you that?" she asked, her gaze sliding over to Merlin, "The one who spent all those years lying to you about who he was? He wouldn't even tell you the truth about what he was, what makes you think he's told you the truth about anything else? How do you know if he's confessed even half his crimes to you?"

Arthur shook his head. _'I was a fool to believe she'd say anything useful.'_ "Leon, give the shackles back to me. We're wasting our time. Merlin-" he glanced back to say something, but the expression on the sorcerer's face drove the words out of his head. Though he was still in the shadows, the King could still read the sorcerer like an open book. A note of shock was there, a hint of remembered anguish, and a bit of fear when he met Arthur's eyes. A knot of uncertainty suddenly coiled in his chest. "What's wrong? We killed the dragon. You said I'd dealt it a mortal blow, and I believed you, Merlin. Tell me she's lying." She had to be lying. . .

Merlin opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He tried again. "Arthur, I- I never. . . " His gaze left Arthur's, slipped over to meet Leon's before falling to the floor. The knot of doubt in the King's gut tightened, fueled by a sudden anger. He knew the answer before Merlin could say it. "She's telling the truth."

Arthur looked sharply at Nynaeve, noticing the smug triumph in her fox's eyes. "So many lies in the court of Camelot," she said, "Can you believe what anyone says anymore?"

"Have you anything else to say?" Arthur growled at her, wishing for a moment that the last few moments could be undone. There were times ignorance could be bliss. "Any other secrets you wish to mention?"

"No. I think my work is done for now. You might think I'll want to talk about my mistress's plans- and she has many of them- but I won't. You'd have to torture me for that, and I think, Arthur Pendragon, that you don't have the stomach for it. Now," she held her hands up, the sly smile steady on her face, her eyes glittering, "you can put me back in my cage. We'll talk later, I'm sure."

"No doubt," Arthur replied sourly. He looked back to Merlin and found the sorcerer had sunk back into the shadows. His expression was hidden, but Arthur read the misery in the slump of his shoulders. "No less than he deserves right now." He bit back his anger as best he could, but the memories of the dragon's attack- the people killed in the destruction, the knights who had fallen defending the city- had not faded. Whatever Merlin's role. . . "Return to your chambers, Merlin, and remain there until I call for you." He turned away, then, not acknowledging the faint 'Yes, sire', or waiting to see if the sorcerer had done as he was told. "Leon, put those back on her and double the guard. I'm sure she has some greater endgame in mind, and I'd prefer to prevent it."

"Yes, sire," Leon replied. He stepped forward and reached through the bars to replace the shackles.

Arthur heard the hiss of a spell, realizing his mistake too late. "I've gotten too used to Merlin's magic. It seems so benign," was the odd thought that spun through his head when he felt a strange force grow in his chest, closing off his throat, and forcing him to the floor. Vaguely, he heard Leon fall next to him, then a shout from behind as his vision swam and began to gray.

There was the sound of another body hitting the floor and the pressure vanished. Arthur gasped and straightened, rubbing at his watering eyes to bring the cell back into focus. The girl lay on the floor, unmoving. Dead. Her fox's eyes open and staring.

"Arthur?" Merlin whispered. He felt the sorcerer's hand at his back, felt a jolt of energy that washed away whatever the girl's spell had done.

"I'm fine." He shook Merlin's hand away and pulled Leon to his feet. The knight wavered for a moment, and then steadied. "What happened?"

"She tried to kill you. I stopped the spell. It must have been her intention all along. Morgause's followers- and Morgana's, I suppose- tend to be fanatics," Merlin said quietly.

"Did you have to kill her?"

"I only stopped the spell. Her death was. . . not my intention. She swore on her own life. I thought she wanted to live," he replied, his gaze on the girl in the cell. Regret swam in his eyes.

Arthur clenched his jaw, keeping his temper just in check. "You can explain this fully later. As well as your role in the dragon's attack and its survival. Right now," he took a breath and let it out slowly, "Right now, I think I might say something I would regret later. Now return to your chambers." Merlin nodded and disappeared up the corridor.

"Sire?" Leon's uncertain gaze asked half a dozen questions he had the sense to not to say aloud.

Arthur's fingers tightened into a fist. He took another breath to calm himself. "Summon the jailor. She'll be buried in the same way as other traitors to the crown are. I'll be in my own chambers. Attend upon me at sundown. I need time to think."

"And what of Merlin?"

"He's the one I need to figure out what to do with. I thought we were done with his lies, Leon, but. . . " He shook his head. "I'll hear him out at least, and I want to have a clear head before then."

With a last glance at the knight, Arthur spun on his heel and strode out of the dungeons, his mind swimming with a thousand conflicting thoughts. _"If this was one of Morgana's plans- to turn me against Merlin. . . God help us if she succeeds."_

* * *

 

"What are you going to do about Merlin, then?"

Arthur looked up at the unexpected voice, his hand instinctively reaching for a sword that wasn’t at his waist. He rolled his eyes when he saw who it was. Gwaine stood above them, three steps up the staircase that led to Gaius and Merlin's shared chambers. He leaned against the wall, an air of indolence in his posture that wasn’t reflected in his eyes. "News travels faster than it should," Arthur grumbled. Behind him, Leon smirked.

"The castle's not that big," Gwaine said. His shifted his stance slightly so they wouldn’t be able to pass. "Have you made up your mind, then?"

"No. I haven't. I thought I might hear what he has to say before I make a decision. I suppose you know the whole story, then?" Arthur stepped on the first step and crossed his arms. He didn’t have to look up all that far to look the shorter knight in the eye.

"I don't need to hear the story. I've got Merlin's back, no matter what. And if you exile him again, I'll be going with him this time, oaths or no oaths." Gwaine, ever the glib man with a joke on his lips, was as serious as Arthur had ever seen him. He had no doubt that the man would forsake his oath of knighthood and abandon Camelot for Merlin's sake.

"I understand," he said after a pause. There was no use in fighting over the issue. Gwaine would do as he would. It was in the man's nature to sail against the wind. "But I haven't made any decisions yet. Is anyone with him?"

"Gaius and Lancelot. Merlin came up right after whatever happened in the dungeons. Wouldn't say anything about it except that he wasn't to leave, and that you were angry with him. 'Course, it's Merlin talking about you, so he's probably understating things."

"Perhaps a little," Arthur replied, "But he lied about something that affects Camelot's safety, Gwaine, and that is a matter I take seriously. I need the truth about it, and his involvement in it. I'm not sure how he can justify what he's done, but I'm willing to hear him out. I owe him that much."

"You owe him a good deal more than that, Princess," Gwaine said. Arthur managed not to roll his eyes at that. "But if you mean it when you say you'll hear him out, I suppose that's good enough for me." The knight straightened and flattened himself against the wall of the narrow staircase to let the King and Leon move past him. "He's a better man than either of us. Remember that," Gwaine called up to them before disappearing from the stairwell.

"Maybe," Arthur thought, "But he has a lot to answer for." He didn’t bother knocking; they were expecting him, after all, and the old latch's rattle was warning enough on a good day. Two sets of eyes greeted them when they came in. The apprehension in Lancelot's belied his calm expression, and Gaius looked tired and worried. Merlin didn’t look up, but the King could read his anxiety in his hunched shoulders and pale face. "Gaius, Lancelot," he greeted them, "I need to speak with Merlin."

They glanced at each other and rose quietly. Gaius placed a hand on Merlin's shoulder and whispered something in his ear. The sorcerer smiled faintly and nodded, but did not look up. Lancelot said nothing, but the stare he leveled at Arthur spoke volumes. 'Remember the oaths you swore,' he seemed to say, 'To be fair in all your dealings, and to maintain the course of justice.' Then they were out the door and gone, their quiet acknowledgements clipped by the closing door. Arthur took the chair across the table from Merlin; he heard Leon settle down off to the side. The room was silent, save for the crackling fire. "Merlin, look at me," he said at last.

His nervous fingers tightened around the mug in his hands, but Merlin looked up, his eyes meeting Arthur's and then Leon's.

"Leon was the only other survivor of our final effort against the dragon. I thought that he deserved to hear the truth of what happened that night," Arthur said. Merlin blanched and looked down again. "I would also like an explanation of what happened in the dungeons today. Was that girl's death an accident or not? You said you thought she wanted to live. What does that mean?"

Merlin licked his lips, clearly trying to sort his thoughts into order. "When-" he cleared his throat,

"When you swear an oath, Arthur, you'll swear by Camelot, or your honor, or something like that. And if you break that oath, if you go back on your sworn word, your reputation is blacked. People think less of you, but in truth, nothing else really happens."

Arthur shrugged, "It's not quite that simple, but for argument's sake I'll say yes. An oathbreaker's honor is forever tarnished. But I don't see the point of this."

"You will," Merlin sighed, "When a sorcerer or magic-user swears an oath, we. . . we can't swear by a land, or by honor, or a sword or anything like that. For us, words have great power. Intentions do, too. We don't swear oaths lightly because when we make such vows, we must swear on a life. Our own lives, another's life- someone precious to us, not just a random face in the crowd."

He paused, brow furrowed and eyes going distant. "If we break our oaths, then whatever life we swear by, will be taken away. As payment of sorts, for being forsworn. The old religion- and magic. . . They have their own laws and those laws can be. . . harsh. So when the Druid girl, Nynaeve- when she swore on her own life that she wouldn't try to harm you, I didn't think she would break her oath. I thought she wanted to live. I didn't know just how fanatical she was, how devoted she was to Camelot's destruction, or else. . . ." He shook his head, unsure of how to finish that thought. "When she tried to kill you, I managed to counter her spell. Then her own power killed her. For breaking her word."

"That sounds a bit harsh," Arthur said. The explanation seemed reasonable, but the suspicious voice in the back of his mind- the one that sounded like his father- whispered that it was too clean a solution. 'I promised to hear him out,' he told that little voice.

"The old religion does not care who lives or who dies, only that the balance is maintained," Merlin said, as though quoting something he had read long ago. "We don't swear oaths lightly."

Arthur nodded at that. He leaned forward, both elbows on the table, hands clasped in front of him. "And the dragon?"

"The dragon." Merlin spun his mug in a slow circle. "It's a long story."

"I have all night."

"Right. . . I suppose there's one other thing about sorcerers I should explain, or it won't make much sense to you," Merlin said. For a moment, Arthur wondered if his servant was lying again. The man always stammered and fidgeted when making up a story. Then Merlin took a deep breath, and all the nervous energy flowed away with it. "We- well, most of us- have the ability to speak to each other, mind to mind, without speaking aloud. The thoughts carry words and emotions with them. It makes it difficult for us to lie to each other, when we communicate like that. It's convenient, really. We can carry on entire conversations without anyone else being the wiser for it. But it has its drawbacks." His eyes darkened, a passing cloud of some painful memory, no doubt. "It can be difficult- even impossible to shut someone out of your mind, if they're powerful, or if the emotion is strong enough."

"And I suppose there's no way for you to prove this ability, is there? I'm just going to have to take your word for it?" Arthur said skeptically. He didn’t miss the flash of hurt in Merlin's eyes, or the twinge of guilt in his own heart for causing that. He spread out his hands in a vague, apologetic gesture. "Go on."

The nervous drumming of Merlin's fingers against the clay mug started again. "It started the first, maybe second night I was in Camelot. I heard this voice in my head. I thought it was a dream, at first, but I woke up, and could still hear it. It kept on like this for a while, but finally I couldn't take it anymore, so I went looking for the source. Eventually, I found the right hallway, tricked the guards into looking the other way, and. . . "

"And you found the dragon," Arthur finished the sentence for him. "And then. . . ?"

Merlin buried his face in his hands, his thumbs rubbing slow circles against his temples, as though a headache was coming on. He dropped his hands back to the table and met Arthur's eyes. "The thing you have to know about dragons- the dragon- is that he's ancient, Arthur. He's a thousand years old, has watched the rise and fall of kingdoms. He is a wise, old creature. And cunning. He knows exactly how to manipulate you to get just what he wants, and he knew what I wanted," a faint, sad smile flashed across Merlin's face.

"Arthur, you grew up knowing exactly who you were, and what you were meant to be. You had your father to teach you how to rule. Lucan and the other knights taught you the art of war. Gaius managed to instill some morals in you." Arthur scowled, but let the remark pass. "And I. . . I was the bastard son of a village herbalist, born with powers I had no idea how to control. I had no one to teach me how to use them in a land where I'd be executed for having them.

"Then I came to Camelot, and here was this amazing creature born of magic, just like me. Of course I was drawn to him." Merlin looked away at that, his gaze resting on the fire. Arthur felt a stirring of unease. Had it ever occurred to him just how lonely Merlin must have been, all those years? "And of course he knew how to keep me going back to him," the sorcerer went on, "giving me hints here and there about who and what I was, helping me keep you alive, always giving me just enough knowledge to keep my head above water. And all the while, he was pushing me down a path of his choosing." He paused to take a sip of the remnants of his tea, grimacing at the taste. It must have gone cold.

"What happened next?" Leon asked. Arthur looked back in surprise. He had forgotten the other knight was in the room, but there he sat, leaning forward, eyes fixed on Merlin and looking like a little boy anxious to hear the conclusion of some hearthside fairytale. Arthur smirked, but admitted one thing- Merlin was good at telling stories.

"Remember when that false servant, Cedric, broke into the tomb of Cornelius Sigan and was possessed by the evil spirit he released?" They nodded. "I had no idea how to defeat Sigan. Camelot was in danger, and I was the only one strong enough to stop it, but I didn't know what to do. So I went back to Kilgharrah- to the dragon. I hadn't been to see him for a time. We'd had a bit of a falling out after the incident with the Questing Beast. This time, when I asked for his help, he made me promise to release him from his prison. A promise isn't a sworn oath. I wasn't bound to it then, so I said I would. He gave me what I needed to defeat Sigan, and then. . . I spent most of a year dodging the issue."

"Until?"

Merlin's shoulders drooped. His gaze fell to the table. "The Knights of Medhir. Morgause and her knights were closing in. We were falling victim to the spell, and Camelot was going to fall- again- if I failed to break it. When you thought I was looking for clothes to disguise your father, I went back down to the caverns to ask Kilgharrah for help. He refused. Said I couldn't be trusted, since I hadn't kept my promise. So there in front of me was a hard, hard choice, and no time to think on it. Keep my word to the dragon and help him escape, or watch Camelot die. There was only one answer, really. And to make him believe me, that I would keep my word, I swore an oath."

"Whose life did you swear by?" Arthur asked, his voice rough. What sorts of paths had the sorcerer walked? What impossible decisions had he faced in his life at Camelot?

"I swore on my mother's life." Merlin pursed his lips, his brow furrowing at the memory. "I knew it was a mistake the moment I said it, but I couldn't take it back. It was too late for that. That night, after the spell was lifted, I took one of the swords of the Knights of Medhir, and I released him." Merlin's voice dropped to a whisper at the last, the remaining color leeching from his face. He closed his eyes.

"So on the wall that night, when you said you were sorry. . ." Arthur's own voice dropped low. He wasn't sure if it was from anger, horror, or disbelief. Perhaps it was all three.

"Because it was my fault. I swore an oath I couldn't- couldn't break, and Camelot suffered for it. I had no good choices that day." Silence fell in the room then. Each of the three men stared at nothing for a time, the King and the knight taking in Merlin's story while the sorcerer pondered- what? What he could have done differently that day?

"So that's why you were nine kinds of surly when we went to look for the Dragonlord. Were you ever planning to tell me any of this?" Arthur fixed his gaze back on Merlin, who had gone another shade paler.

"I don't know, Arthur. I wanted to. I always wanted to tell you everything, I just. . . I couldn't. What your father would have done to me if he'd ever found out. . . " he shuddered and let out a shaky breath. "That wasn't the whole reason I was on edge during that little quest. We were each looking for a different man."

"What do you mean?"

Merlin finally looked up, his eyes glistening. "You were looking for a Dragonlord. I was looking for my father."

Arthur's breath left him. He stared at Merlin in wide-eyed shock. "Your father?" he finally gasped.

"Balinor- the Dragonlord? Was your father? But why didn't he recognize you?"

"He never knew I existed. After Kilgharrah was captured, Gaius sent Balinor to my mother so she could hide him for a time. They fell in love, and. . . things progressed," Merlin's cheeks reddened at that. "But your father heard that Balinor was still alive, so he sent knights to Ealdor to kill him. He left, to keep my mother safe, and he never came back. He thought her life would be better without him. Even she must not have known she was with child when he left. I'm sure she would have told him otherwise." He shrugged and gave Arthur that sad smile the King had seen too many times now. "I think she never told me about him because she knew I would have gone looking for him, and things would have ended badly all around if that happened. Gaius told me the truth just before we left."

Arthur nodded and sat back in his chair. ' _And when Balinor died defending Merlin, I told him the man- his own father- wasn't worth his tears. He followed me to the field anyway. God in heaven. What do I know about anything?'_ He tried to still the whirl of his thoughts, but like catching shadows in the water, he couldn't grasp onto anything. The silence stretched out between them.

"That means that you're a Dragonlord, then?" Leon was the first to speak.

Merlin nodded. "It's a gift handed down from father to son, but not until the father's death. Even then, you don't know if you have it until you face a dragon. I had no idea if I'd be able to do anything to Kilgharrah that night. But then there I was, the last one standing, and. . ." a smile touched his lips, a light of wonder brightening his eyes, "It worked. I drove him away. Kilgharrah can't harm Camelot again. I know it doesn't make up for what happened before, but there it is," he finished simply, his words running out.

Arthur took a breath, then stood and walked to the windows, his nervous energy getting the better of him. He looked out across the city, to the walls damaged in the attack. They were stronger now. The kingdom was stronger now, though the memory of Dragonfire still haunted. His own scars had faded; thin white lines on his shoulder, a reminder of survival. _'Though it was probably magic that healed me.'_ Part of him wanted to toss Merlin into the dungeons for releasing the dragon. A small part, but it was there all the same. And yet. . .

His own sins had come to light in the Broceliande Wood not so long ago. His own actions had resulted in the deaths of innocents as well. And he had no mitigating circumstances, no dragon manipulating him that day in the Druids' camp. Only his own desire to please his father, and his own failure to control his men. The fairy woman had forgiven him all the same, demanding just a few drops of blood in payment. He would have given his life to change what happened. How much more would Merlin be willing to give? Arthur turned back to the others. "Leon," he said, nodding toward the door. The knight took the hint and left, closing the door behind him.

Arthur sat back down across from Merlin, catching the sorcerer's gaze. "I want to be angry at you for this, Merlin, but I can't. You're not innocent. Neither am I. My own crimes are perhaps worse than yours, but. . . Last summer, in Broceliande, a fairy woman forgave me for what I did. She had me at her mercy, and I was willing to die for what I'd done, but she forgave me. If the wounds of this land are to be healed, we can't keep seeking revenge." He took a breath and let the next words flow. It felt right. "For your part in the great dragon's escape and subsequent attacks, I forgive you. Pardon you. It's my right, as a King. If you say he cannot harm Camelot again, then I believe you."

Merlin's eyes widened. Tears threatened to spill over, and if it was a choked laugh or half a sob the sorcerer let out, Arthur didn't know. "Thank you," he whispered.

"You're welcome," the King said and rose to leave. His hand was on the door when something clicked in his mind. Without looking back, he asked, "You said you can hear other sorcerers speak in your mind, especially when the emotion is strong. How many times did you hear those ones my father burned?"

There was a long silence. Merlin's voice, when he spoke, was quiet and strained. "I heard all of them. And I can't forget any of them."

Chills ran through Arthur. Hearing those screams in the air had been horror enough. But to experience them, as though living through it himself? He looked back to find Merlin staring at a candle on the table. His face was pale, his eyes haunted. "Then no matter what else you might have done, I think you've been punished enough for a dozen lifetimes." The sorcerer's shoulders shook. "Do you still fear the flames?" Arthur asked softly.

A flash of gold lit Merlin's summer blue eyes. Every candle in the room went out. "Always."

* * *

"Do something for me, would you, Merlin?"

"Hm. . . ?" Merlin looked up from the ties of Arthur's hauberk to look over his shoulder, catching the King's gaze in the mirror. "What?"

Arthur rolled his eyes at the blank look on his servant's face. "It's been two weeks since the incident with the Druid girl in the dungeon. Samhain has come and gone peacefully, it's a new year, and the people are happy. The sun is shining, and yet you're still gloomy as an old rain cloud. Sometimes I think that if you died and were granted eternal happiness, you'd still find a way to be unhappy."

"Sorry," he muttered, tying off the hauberk's laces and turning to the pauldron on Arthur's shoulder. Under his fingers, the strap felt worn. It would need replacing soon. "It's just that it dredged up a lot of bad memories. They don't fade quickly. " The old memories of the burnings he had witnessed leaked into his dreams for a full week after, robbing him of sleep and forcing him to relive them, the events playing out until the moments- far too many of them- where he had reached out with his own magic and put the victims out of their misery. Some might call it mercy. It still felt like murder to him.

Murder. . .

He fumbled with the pauldron's strap, and the words slipped from his lips before he could stop them, "Arthur, there's something else I need to tell you about the day the Knights of Medhir attacked us."

"Oh? What's that? You didn't find any other dragons in the caverns, did you?" He didn’t miss the forced lightness in the King's tone. Arthur had forgiven him for that, Merlin knew, but that did not mean he didn't still harbor some bit of anger.

"No, nothing like that." Merlin licked his lips. "It's about Morgause's spell, the one that put everyone to sleep. I didn't tell you how it was broken." He quickly finished tightening the pauldron's strap against Arthur's back so his nervous fingers would not botch it up.

"You didn't, did you?" Arthur turned when he felt Merlin's hands drop away. "The bit about the dragon seemed rather more important at the time."

"Yeah," Merlin looked down at tugged at his sleeves. "I told you I had no good choices that day, and I didn't. Swear an oath or let Camelot fall, release the dragon or let my mother die. The third one still. . . It still feels like it was the worst of them." He trailed to a halt, suddenly unsure of what to say, or even if he wanted to go on. But he had begun, and Arthur was waiting for an answer. He had to keep going. "Part of the reason the spell was as strong as it was, was because Morgause had found a living vessel to carry it. She could have centered it on a rock or a horse, but it wouldn't have been as strong. It wouldn't have lasted so long. She needed someone to make it last, so she focused it on Morgana. That's why she wasn't affected. It's why she didn't fall asleep like everyone else."

"Why didn't you tell me this at the time?" Arthur's gaze was hard.

"How would I have explained knowing it? Told you I was a sorcerer then? Told you Morgana was developing her own powers? What would your father have done to us? I couldn't tell you how I knew." He shook his head, frustrated at where the conversation was trying to go. "The point is that when I spoke to Kilgharrah, and he told me what I needed to do to lift the spell. . . He- I had to kill the spell's vessel to end it." Merlin struggled to look at Arthur and not let his gaze fall away. He took a breath and forced himself to say the next words. "To save Camelot, I had to kill Morgana,"

Arthur's face emptied of expression. Merlin stepped back, trembling. "What did you do?"

"I . . . I poisoned her. Hemlock, in the water."

Arthur turned away. His fingers tightened into fists. Merlin was suddenly glad that it was a practice session they were preparing for, and not actual combat. The sheathed sword on the table was nothing more than a blunted practice sword. He kept silent and still, waiting for Arthur's anger to cool. "How did she survive?" he asked at last.

"M-Morgause came in. She must have felt what was happening to Morgana. . . I can still see her face," Merlin's voice dropped to a whisper, "When Morgana realized what I'd done, what was happening to her. She looked so scared. Then Morgause was there, demanding that I tell her what poison I'd used. I said I wouldn't unless she lifted the spell, told her Morgana would die with me if she killed me." His gaze dropped to the floor. He cleared his throat and continued, "She loved Morgana more than she wanted the throne, though. She lifted the spell, and I told her what I'd used. That's when you came back in." He picked at his fingernails. "I keep telling myself that I did it to save Camelot, that the kingdom and all the people in it were worth more than one life- no matter whose it was, or what she'd done. But. . . I still feel like a murderer sometimes."

The silence seemed to stretch on for hours before Arthur spoke again. "In times of war, men do things in the heat of the moment they would never consider doing any other day for the sake of their lands or family. That you still feel guilty about it tells me everything I need to know, Merlin," Arthur said. He reached for his gloves and pulled them on, each movement studied and deliberate, his eyes unfocused. For a moment, Merlin wished he could read the path of the King's thoughts. Then Arthur blinked and shook his head. "I wish you would have told me about her then, but. . . maybe I wouldn't have listened to you. My father certainly wouldn't have. He thought she could do no wrong. Was there anything we could have done to help her, keep her from the path she chose?"

"I don't know. I tried to help her, however I could, but everything I did seemed to turn back on me. Like Fate was working against me."

"I don't believe in Fate," Arthur declared, "We make our own choices. Morgana chose to do what she did. She made a choice, and it was to turn against Camelot All we can do about it now is to stop her in whatever way we can. I know she'll try to claim the throne again, sooner or later." He took up the practice sword from the table. A glint of light shone off the blunted blade into Merlin's eyes. An inexplicable chill ran down his spine. Arthur noticed. "Is something wrong?"

"No," Merlin said, "At least, nothing I can put my finger on. Just a feeling." He shrugged. "Magic doesn't always make sense."

"From what little I've seen of magic, I think it does make a certain bit of sense. But you, Merlin," Arthur shook his head but could not keep the impish grin off his face, "You don't make any sense at all. I might go as far as saying that you're completely non-sensical, bordering on ridiculous at times. Now come on, or I'll catch hell from Lucan about being late. And don't give me any guff about not wanting to go out in public. I keep telling you that not everyone hates you. More of a general disliking, I'd say, but definitely not hate," Arthur batted at Merlin's head with a gloved hand. "Besides. If you ever want your kind to be accepted, you're going to have to stop skulking in the shadows and show up once in a while." Without waiting for a response, he walked out the door, obviously expecting his servant to follow.

Merlin shook his head but could not keep the smile from spreading across his face. Arthur was right for once. If magic were to be accepted in Camelot once more, someone would have to put a face to it. Better that face was his own, and not Morgana's. _"For a gilded prat, he does show a bit of wisdom now and then._ " Then he took his cloak from the back of a chair and followed his King into the late morning sunlight.


End file.
